excerpts

11.9

You are composed of sidelong glances, which you never return or take note of, and the little glimpses of you I see each day, be it your backpack or hoodie or shoe in the corner of the hallway, and you are shy waves and murmured hellos lost to the thunder of voices in the multitude, the way that I can't speak and how you don't smile and how I do it too often without meaning it at all, and you are reminiscent of the way that my heart breaks, the minuscule cracks leading into bigger ones until it fractures and crumbles like pie crust or motivation on a humid day, making me feel like I'll never be whole again, but when the pain subsides, I feel nothing, nothing because I put my heart in your hands and without knowing it you trampled it to pieces with your beautiful eyes and sincere words, and you left me wondering why, after all this time, my heart would still choose to beat for you, break for you, bleed for you, all as long as it was for you.